


Mr and Mr Anderson

by BreathingWords



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Assassins AU, Conspiracy, Death, F/M, HonNor, Kendoll Connor, M/M, Murder, Sex, Violence, Wire Play, based on Mr and Mrs Smith, both Hank and Connor are bamf, hankcon - Freeform, married Hankcon, thigh fucking, trained killers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-07-04 16:15:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15844863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BreathingWords/pseuds/BreathingWords
Summary: Hank is a veteran assassin working for the infamous Mr Fowler. He keeps his private life away from his husband, Connor, in fear of driving him away.When Mr Fowler himself becomes a target, Hank is given the task of assassinating an android working under the order of Elijah Kamski. A top grade assassin android designed for the purpose of taking out Kamski's rivals and opponents.A top grade assassin android that just so happens to be his husband.His husband who has been given the exact same orders to take out Hank.





	1. Taken Out

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I came up with this idea in the middle of the night and I had to get it written down as soon as I possibly could. It has just been niggling at me all day. I wrote this first chapter while listening to the Detroit: Become Human soundtrack so I'm well hyped up! I hope you enjoy it!

**Mr and Mr Anderson**

**Chapter One**

Mr and Mrs Henderson weren’t exceptionally important people. In fact, they weren’t even exceptionally interesting people. The only thing that brought them to where they are now is money. Money, money, money. They bought their way into high society and continued to pay for their stay. It was a shame, too, because the money they earned was earned hard and well. Mr Henderson used to own a car repair company, which did well before androids were brought in for such tasks, enough to keep himself and his wife very comfortable despite the loss of their livelihood.

The high society of Detroit had two sides, and you can end up on either end. Either you wind up sipping champagne from a little trinket glass; fake chortling about how such-and-such was insane to wear such an atrocious outfit to the races. Or, you end up at rooftop parties mingling amongst the most important people of Detroit, carefully picking your words to ensure that you stayed in the correct lane. Mr and Mrs Henderson had a foot in both sides.

Mrs Henderson had always taken pleasure in her appearance and loved to attend the rooftop parties in which she had paid her way into. Paid with her husband’s money. She wore Mr Henderson on her wrist like an accessory, unaware of the fact that while Mr Henderson smiled and kissed her cheek at the correct moments, his eyes laid on the wife of Mr Graham, a CEO with a load of power at his helm.

While Mrs Henderson remained unaware, Mr Graham did not. He had known that his wife had been unfaithful, sneaking off at all hours to meet some man. Mr Graham had not missed the looks, either, and his narcissistic, paranoid brain put two and two together. He loved his beautiful wife too much, despite her treachery. So, he chose to remove Mr Henderson from the picture instead. 

Hank watched the party from the roof of the opposite building. He wondered how people could be mad enough to wish to attend these atrocious. He couldn’t hear a word anyone was saying, but he could glean the type of conversations that was taking place from the raised pinkies and the way everyone’s eyes peered down their noses at one another. How could anyone be bothered interacting with people who analysed every word from their mouth? Why the Henderson’s chose to buy their way into this bullcrap was beyond Hank’s comprehension.

His sniper rested comfortably by his side, the weight leaning against him so familiar to him, coming only second to the weight of his husband when he laid beside him.  
Mr Henderson’s head remained in Hank’s sights. Hank didn’t know if the poor sod’s wife was delusional or simply thick but those looks he kept casting at Mr Graham’s wife were not subtle to anyone looking hard enough. Maybe Mrs Henderson trusted her husband too much. A stupid move on her part. There wasn’t a faithful bone in any rich bastard’s body. They had too much power to worry about such things.

Hank sighed quietly to himself. He had been waiting for Mrs Henderson to release her husband for at least a second so that he could get the job done, but it didn’t look like that was going to happen. Mrs Henderson wasn’t in danger-Hank was a perfect shot-he had just figured that the last thing she needed after what was about to happen was blood staining her white dress. 

It looked like Mr Graham had not been kidding when he informed that higher ups that Mrs Henderson carted her husband around like some sort of puppy on a leash. Well, hopefully, if things go her way, her husband will have included her in his will and she would be able to buy a new white dress. 

Because Hank was sick of waiting around.

Lining up his shot, Hank let his sight follow the couple as they roamed the party, waiting for them to stop. Ironically, this happened right in front of Mr Graham and his wife. At least he could witness what he had paid for.

Hank breathed in slowly, making sure that everything was positioned correctly, and, with a careful, steady out breath, his finger pushed the trigger.

Once the deed was done, there wasn’t time to hang around. Get out of there as quickly as possible before you’re spotted. Mr Fowler had only been able to grant a particular amount of time before the CCTV cameras were switched back on, so Hank had to get past them and have had ditched his weapon before that small window ran out.

He saw Mr Henderson fall out of the corner of his eye and as he quickly turned and packed everything away. Mrs Henderson’s faint scream rang out through the air, drowned and thinned by the traffic and hustle of a regular Detroit night.

Hank made quick work of the stairs and was out of the building and into the streets before anyone at the party across the street could think about phoning the police. He melted into the dozens of pedestrians, the sniper snugly stored in a briefcase. Just another regular man on his way home from a busy day at work.

A few streets away, Hank turned into an old public bathroom. This bathroom was a Godsend. Positioned perfectly on a blind spot in the corner of the street, Mr Fowler practically baptised the dingy toilet as a weapon dumping ground. Of course, the weapons weren’t just dumped. Someone came by to collect it when the heat wore down a bit.

Hank slid the briefcase between the toilet and the cubicle wall, pulling the door shut behind him. No one really came into this bathroom; the toilet didn’t flush, and the cubicle didn’t have a lock on it. Hank just liked to pull the cubicle door shut on the off chance that someone wandered in. Not that it would matter if someone found the sniper. Sure, they would have found the weapon that murdered Mr Henderson, but they would never be able to trace it back to anyone.

Pulling off his gloves and stuffing them into his back pocket, Hank ran his hands under the taps. He chucked some water gently onto his face and looked at himself in the mirror. Damn, he was getting old. The lines in his face seemed to get deeper every day. He sometimes wondered if he should quit this shit. Retire; indulge in the money he had made bunking people off; and settle down with his husband Connor and their dog Sumo.

But he couldn’t. Hank had been an assassin for Mr Fowler for as long as he could remember. This business was in his blood. It made him feel young, despite his greying hair and wrinkled face. Fowler always said that the older you got, the easier it became to slide past the radar of the DPD. No one would suspect an old man. What would he get from murdering some hoity toity rich man?

A shit ton of money was what he got, but they didn’t know that. Hank had it all saved up. For what, he wasn’t sure. Every so often, he would take Connor on holiday, maybe for their anniversary or just if he was going particularly stir crazy. He would even splash out sometimes and buy Sumo that really fancy dog food. But that was all. He couldn’t let Connor suspect where his money came from. 

Hank ran his hand over his face with a sigh and retrieved his backpack from where he had stored it under the sink. He quickly changed from one set of clothes to another. It was part of his routine to do this. Gavin always questioned him, saying he didn’t know why he bothered because half the time Hank was sniping people from a distance; it wasn’t like he was getting his clothes dirty or anything. 

What everyone at Fowler’s joint seemed to forget was that Hank was married to an android. An android who, yes, had long since deviated, but could still be extremely perceptive when he wanted to be. Hank was paranoid that he would come through the door and Connor would somehow be able to smell the assassination off him. So, he chose to be careful. To save his own sanity and to protect Connor from the knowledge that his husband was a murderer.

Hank shouldered his backpack and exited the toilets. His car was parked a few streets away, and he intended to get home before Connor was asleep. He had been out late way too many nights recently and while the influx of jobs had been nice in terms of income, Hank missed spending time with his husband.

He felt guilty not telling Connor about what he really did for a living. It was selfish of him, because all Hank truly feared was Connor leaving him. He didn’t know if he could handle seeing his husband look at him in disgust and call him a murderer. Hank knew what he was; he knew what he did; but he didn’t ever want to hear it coming from the mouth of someone he loved so dearly. Not in the way he knew Connor would say it.

They had met at the DPD, for Christ’s sake. Connor had been a prototype android sent by Cyberlife to work with the station and Hank had been working undercover to gain some information on a target. Of course, Connor had not known that. He still believed to this day that Hank was an officer of the law. Thankfully, Connor had since been transferred to a different precinct, and Hank was able to keep the lie. 

Once he reached his house, Hank stood outside for a moment, simply staring at the small building. He didn’t like lying to Connor, but he had no choice. The only other option was the truth, and that wasn’t really an option. If Hank wanted to keep coming home to share a bed with Connor, that was.

Shaking himself off, Hank stuck his key into the door and entered. He was immediately met by Sumo’s insane barks, the soft clipping of paws running around the floor as the dog circled him.

“Hey bud,” Hank patted Sumo’s head before letting the animal wander outside to use the toilet.

Connor’s voice came next. “Just a minute!”

Hank threw the clothes into his backpack into the washing machine and immediately put the wash on. At least he wouldn’t look insane this time, there were some clothes already in the machine. Once he had just put his clothes on and Connor had went nuts about wasting water etcetera. 

“You’re home early.”

Hank looked up, not having realised that he had been staring mindlessly at the washing machine.

There his husband stood. Arms folded; hip resting against the fridge; eyebrows raised with interest. God, he was gorgeous. Why in the hell did the fool waste his time with a crazy old geezer like himself? 

“Ah, yeah. I got everything finished up early, so I was able to come home,” Hank answered.

“That’s good,” Connor smiled. “I’ve been missing you.” His cheeks tinted just the slightest tint of blue, and Hank’s heart ached. He should have broken the speed limit to get back sooner.

Sumo came pottering back in and Connor crossed the room to shut the door behind him. “I’ve been missing you too,” Hank said. “It’s why I left work early. I even crashed the car into the side of the house. Don’t look, it’s carnage outside.”

Connor laughed. “If that’s what gets you up and going, then I miss the dishes being done,” he said, a playful smile on his lips.

“Oh ha ha,” Hank sarcastically replied.

“Have you had dinner?”

“I went to Chicken Feed for lunch and then someone brought donuts into the office and I may have made a dent in them,” Hank explained. “So, I’m good.”

Connor rolled his eyes. “You’re the epitome of healthy eating.”

“That’s a good thing, right?”

“It should be,” Connor flatly replied. He pointed at Hank from across the islet. “No fried food tomorrow. I’m making you a proper meal. No excuses.”

Hank held his hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright,” he said. “No excuses from me. As long as you let me put together your thirium pack tomorrow.” He grinned. “I know you like how I make it.”

Connor grinned back. “It’s a deal then.” He glanced into the living room. “Want to watch a movie?”

It had been a long time since he and Connor had sat and watched a movie together. They did it all them time when they had been dating, but it seemed that they both had just gotten busier and busier. Either they saw each other in the morning to say goodbye or one slid into bed at night while the other slept. There didn’t seem to be an inbetween.

“Yeah, of course. Just let me get out of these clothes.”

“Easy there, I said a movie, not _that_ ,” Connor teased.

Hank snorted. “You wish.”

Once into his sleep pants and shorts, Hank joined Connor on the sofa. The android was already lazily flicking through channels, and immediately melted into Hank’s side as soon as he sat down. Sumo joined them by snuggling down by their feet, a happy little ‘hmph’ escaping the animal before he closed his eyes.

Connor lingered on the News. Thankfully, they weren’t reporting the death of Mr Henderson. Hank knew that Connor would immediately notice his heart picking up if the sod’s face had come up onto the screen. Instead, they were reporting the death of someone else. Some anti-android activist had been smothered in her sleep. She had been well known for voicing her support of the deactivation of androids, or the rewiring of them so they returned to mindless slaves incapable of deviation.

“That’s what she gets for being so hateful,” Hank muttered to himself.

Connor hummed vaguely in response and continued flicking through the channels. They settled on watching one of the Saw movies. Hank didn’t know which one. They had made so fucking many, the only one he really knew by sight was the first. But it was the only thing on the telly that wasn’t some god-awful rom com; the News; or a murder mystery show. The latter wasn’t entertaining to watch at all because Connor always pegged the murderer within the first half an hour, the novelty of which dies pretty fast.

“Despite these films being nothing but mindless torture porn, I can’t help but admire the imagination that goes into the endless onslaught of traps,” Connor said as the junkie girl was chucked into the pit of used needles. “Sick imagination, but imagination nonetheless.”

“I’m surprised that there hasn’t been more copy cats over the years,” Hank replied. “There’s been a few, but not many. People are too busy blaming Slenderman for their murders.”

“Who?” Connor frowned, not looking away from the television.

“Sorry, before your time,” Hank waved off. “Long story.”

Hank watched Connor watching the telly. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of his husband’s head, which made the smaller man smile.

When the film ended they headed to bed. Sumo barely stirred as they tiptoed past him into the bedroom. No words were spoken. No words needed to be spoken.  
As soon as the door shut behind them, they were at each other.

At first, Hank had thought that making love to Connor would be a difficult thing. He wasn’t a Traci, and thus wasn’t installed with the necessary . . . _equipment_ to engage in sexual intercourse. However, where there’s a will, there’s a way, and boy did they have will. 

It turned out that if Connor cranked up his sensitivity sensors, he could achieve pleasurable sensations simply from being touched. That added on top of some fiddling with his wires, and teasing his fingertips, and Hank knew how to overload the android’s RAM, which provided him with a feeling similar to orgasm.

As for Hank’s side of things . . .

Hank held Connor tight in his arms, his hips moving gently against his lover’s back. Connor held his knees together, his legs splayed slightly outward, his body raised the tiniest bit to give Hank the room he needed. It had been very clumsy in the beginning, but they had found a rhythm that worked for both of them. Fucking Connor’s thighs had seemed odd in theory, but actually felt fucking great in practice.

Shivers jittered up and down Hank’s body as he panted against Connor’s back, one hand buried in the open panel on his lover’s stomach, the other holding Connor’s hand as he kissed each fingertip.

Connor was purring in his embrace, face turned into Hank’s neck where he breathed heavily and erratically. He clenched his thighs tighter around Hank and he groaned, knowing that he was going to blow his load way to soon. They didn’t do this enough and Hank’s stamina had weakened with age. 

True to the statement, Hank came moments later. He shuddered and groaned into Connor’s ear, making the smaller man groan back in response. He continued to play with Connor’s wires, rubbing and caressing them. His lover twitched and moaned in his arms, body flushed a pale blue. 

Hank kissed Connor hard. He wished that he could pour everything that he felt for him into the simple action. He wished he could make up for the lies, the treachery and betrayal; he wished he could pour every ounce of guilt he felt for lying on a daily basis into the kiss; to show his husband how much he loved him and how much he despised having to lie to him every fucking day. 

And how much he hated himself for being unable to quit.

Connor always needed time to reboot after he had flooded his RAM. Hank always took this time to clean his partner up and get himself into decent shape as well. He enjoyed the partially alarmed look Connor would get on his face when he would wake up tucked up in their bed, panel closed; clean and tidy. It was usually because the last thing he remembered was screaming in agonising pleasure as his RAM overloaded and now he was wrapped up warm in their bed.

It was the least Hank could do for him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t last longer,” Hank apologised as he climbed into bed beside Connor.

“Don’t apologise for things you can’t control,” Connor scolded, scooting closer to Hank and resting his head on his chest. “Besides, you make me feel young.”

Hank snorted. “You’re hilarious,” he sarcastically replied. “You should be a comedian, has anyone ever told you that?”

“Yes,” Connor answered. “You, just now.”

“Don’t get smart with me,” Hank chuckled. A pause. “ _You_ make _me_ feel young.”

Connor smiled into Hank’s chest. “I’m glad,” he murmured.

Hank’s phone buzzed. He planted a kiss on top of Connor’s head and fished his mobile out from his bedside cabinet. 

**00.01 am**  
**1 New Message**  
**Unknown Number**  
**New job. Need you tomorrow. Morning. Soon as. Urgent.**  
**-F**

Hank huffed and threw his phone into his drawer, slamming it shut behind him. There was always something to ruin the moment.

When he turned back around, Connor was watching him carefully. “Is everything alright?”

“What? Yeah, of course. Just have to go to the station early tomorrow,” Hank explained.

Connor nodded in understanding. “Me too,” he sympathised.

With a parting kiss goodnight, Connor settled in to sleep. Hank remained awake for a while longer, plagued by his own thoughts.

_You’re lying to him for his own good._

Hank glanced at Connor’s sleeping form and sighed.

_He couldn’t handle that world._


	2. Pufferfish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank attends a meeting with Fowler and Gavin, where he is assigned his new mission. A mission that will throw everything that Hank has known up until now out of place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you everyone for the amazing response to this story so far! I'm glad so many of you have enjoyed it so much! Here's chapter two! :D

Chapter Two

When Hank awoke, Connor was already gone. This wasn’t unusual for them. Since they both worked different hours, Hank would have been more surprised if he had woken up to find his husband sound asleep beside him. Maybe if Connor was able to book some time off soon, they could spend it just lazing about the house. No holidays; no running around; just sitting at home watching some trash TV. Like ordinary couples did. This charade of barely seeing one another wore thin long ago.

Halloween was coming up soon, maybe Connor would be able to use that as an excuse to book time off. It worked for the schools, right? As for Hank himself, he could take time off whenever he wanted. Except, of course, at times like today. When things, according to Fowler, were ‘urgent’. 

Hank huffed and threw himself out of bed. He doubted it was as urgent as Fowler made it out to be. Fowler could be very theatrical. Hank didn’t care. As long as the man kept signing his paycheques, he could be as dramatic as he wanted to be. It wasn’t Hank’s job to ask questions anyways. He was given a job and he got that job done. It was for the best to take what Fowler said at face value, whether it be exaggerated or not. Start questioning things and you start getting invested. It made things easier.

Fowler was a hard man to love, but in Hank’s case he was a harder man to hate. A decade ago, Hank had been in the pits of alcoholism. His wife had walked out on him and shortly after his beautiful son Cole was killed in a car accident. A car accident that Hank, for some fucked up reason, had survived. God, if he could switch places with Cole . . .

Drinking seemed to be the only thing that numbed the pain, the only thing that filled the empty hole that Cole’s passing left behind. It was when he was staggering around Detroit one rainy Saturday night that he ran into Fowler. He had worked with Fowler in the DPD in the past and he used to help Cole with his maths homework because God knew Hank couldn’t do it. That was the only reason Hank stopped when he saw him. 

Fowler pretty much took Hank under his wing. Paid for rehab. Sobered him up. Forced him to go to groups about bereavement and loss. Basically, he forced Hank to clean up his act. It had not been easy, and Hank knew that he had been a right bastard for the majority of the journey. 

So, in return, Hank started to work for Fowler. He owed way too much to the fucker. Hell, if he hadn’t run into Fowler that night then he would never have taken the path that led him to Connor for fuck’s sake. Albeit, when Fowler offered him the job he had not known that since his departure from the DPD, Fowler had become some sort of Mafia boss tycoon in the underground crime scene of Detroit. However, it was something Hank made himself get used to. And it was almost unnerving how easy it was to do that.

A quick shower later and Hank was heading out the door. Sumo was curled up in his bed, his food and water bowls both filled precisely to their brims, not a single bit spilled. A smile tugged at Hank’s lips. Only Connor could be that precise. 

A note was left on the islet. Hank picked it up the bright pink sticky note and scanned what was written on it.

**Might be working late tonight. Rain check on the dinner. Don’t think you can go to Chicken Feed just because I must cancel, I’m coming back at my lunch and leaving a salad in the fridge.**   
**-Connor**

Hank chuckled and shook his head, stuffing the note into his back pocket and heading out the door.

Fowler’s headquarters was in the most outrageously obvious place that if the DPD ever discovered its location, they would kick themselves for being so stupid. It was in an apartment building right beside the most popular nature park in Detroit. Sometimes Fowler would take his hitmen out on a stroll around the nature trails as an invisible fuck you to those who have tried to catch him.

Of course, the DPD don’t know that they are looking for Fowler specifically. They only know that there are underground gangs at work in Detroit and they had to uncover them. There wasn’t just Fowler’s gang, either. There were many. However, most groups chose not to mix with one another. Mainly because their politics differed from each other. Everyone had something to fight for, and most of the time those goals did not correlate with someone else’s. So, they left well enough alone. Unless, of course, their paths were forced to cross.

After a quick detour to the nearby Starbucks, Hank parked his old car a couple of streets away from the apartment and made his way there by foot. Hank was pretty sure that the building was not under any kind of suspicion, but he took these precautions as a means of saving his own sanity.

In Hank’s day, the building had been a massive department store, but after a freak accident created a fire that destroyed the place, it had been renovated into apartments. Hank had watched too many buildings and businesses and even ideas and people come and go in his fifty years. He had lived through so many different types of consuming media and getting jobs done quicker, now they had everything at a click of a button and freaking androids who, up until the past decade or so, had been there to serve at their every whim.

Fowler’s room was on floor fifty-two. Far from the top, but not too close to the bottom. Nice and inconspicuous. Hank only had to knock once before the door was being flung open and he was met by the grumpy face of Gavin Reed.

Hank tried not to groan. “Why are you here?” he complained.

“Urgent means urgent. Ergo, meaning both of us is needed for the briefing,” Gavin answered, disappearing back into the apartment.

Knowing that this was one hundred percent correct but still wanting to complain, Hank grumbled to himself about where Gavin could shove his briefing as he shut the door behind him.

“You know whiskey tastes better,” Gavin said, referring to the coffee cup in Hank’s hand.

“You know what else tastes better?” Hank asked.

“No, what?”

“Exactly, because you’ve no fucking taste, so shut the hell up.” It wasn’t Hank’s best, but it was too early in the morning to be trying to come up with clever comebacks.

“Both of you, be quiet!”

Hank glanced at Fowler, who he had not noticed was already there, and tsked. Knowing when to keep quiet, though, he threw himself into a leather chair directly in front of Fowler. Gavin took up the adjacent sofa. “So why am I here at this ungodly hour?” he demanded to know.

“Good job yesterday with the Henderson job. Your cut of Mr Graham’s money will be in your bank by the end of the week,” Fowler said.

“Yeah, yeah, Hank’s a hero, we get it, but why the hell are we here?” Gavin responded.

Fowler sighed and leaned back in his seat. “An urgent matter has arisen. One that must take precedent over all other cases. Someone is in danger.”

“Oh?” Hank replied mildly, taking a sip of coffee. “Who is in danger?”

“Me.”

Hank choked on his coffee while Gavin started to laugh. “What did you do?” the latter man demanded to know. “Finally piss off the wrong wife?”

Unamused but eloquent as usual, Fowler ignored Gavin. “You both know that I have friends in the AAA movement, correct?”

The AAA movement was the Anti-Android Association. A political party that had cropped up after androids were granted human rights and allowed to deviate. Hank didn’t particularly like that Fowler had friends in the AAA, but it was not like Fowler himself was a member of the AAA. Fowler was still aware that this was a sensitive topic for Hank, and usually did not bring up his friends in the AAA. So, either he did have something extremely important to say or he was about to piss Hank off royally.

“Yes,” Hank said shortly.

“Well, the woman who was killed last night was one of them. Her name was Mary-Anne Hooper. We used to date back in the day, but I haven’t seen her for years. At about six o’clock yesterday evening, I received this.” 

Fowler threw an envelope to Hank. He examined the envelope itself for marks and when it was clear that it was just normal plain paper, he opened it. Inside was a scrap of paper. Looked like it had been ripped out of an old notepad of some sort. All that was written on the paper was a bunch of numbers.

“The hell is this?” Hank muttered. He flipped the paper and scrawled on the back was a message.

**Keep this safe. They’ll be coming for you next.**

“When I saw that she had been murdered, I put two and two together,” Fowler explained.

“And what is the four?” Gavin enquired, taking the paper from Hank to have a look at it himself.

“It is clear that Mary-Anne was murdered by Elijah Kamski’s lot,” Fowler answered, his voice grave.

“Elijah Kamski. As in the man who invented androids, founder of Cyberlife, _that_ Elijah Kamski?” Hank exclaimed.

“The very one indeed,” Fowler sighed. “Ever since the invention of androids, Elijah has been active underground. Taking out competition; assassinating activists; the usual crap you would expect.”

“Assassinating activists . . . Is that what you assume happened to Mary-Anne?” 

“It is what I know happened to Mary-Anne. They killed her because they were looking for that code.”

Gavin frowned, holding the note up to the light. “Can’t we just give it to him?”

Fowler looked affronted. “Why should we? It’s ours now. All Elijah Kamski is ever after is money and power. This code could be worth our weight in gold.”

“It’s obviously worth the weight of your corpse,” Gavin pointed out.

Fowler grinned. “Not when I have the two best human hitmen in Detroit on my side.”

The word ‘human’ stood out to Hank like a sore thumb. “What do you mean by ‘human hitmen’?” he asked.

Fowler sighed and stood up. He plucked a remote off a nearby table and pressed a button. A projector above their heads whirred into life and an image hit the wall of the Cyberlife logo. “Elijah founded Cyberlife, you both know that much already. He was the pioneer of the android age. And, when the android revolution rolled in, he welcomed the freedom of his creations with open arms. He took many of them in and kept them safe. Slowly, they started to form into a mafia-like group. With Elijah Kamski at the helm.”

“So, we’re up against androids, is that what you’re saying?” Gavin said. When Fowler nodded, Gavin looked at Hank. “You sure Hank is right for this job?”

“What do you mean by that?” Hank demanded.

“Well . . . you are extremely close to androids, aren’t you?”

“If you’re referring to my marriage I’d kindly like to tell you to shut the fuck up.”

Fowler interrupted them, “Just because Hank is married to android does not mean he is not capable of taking out other androids like he would humans. If he had been married to a human, would you have asked the same question when I sent him out on the Henderson case last night? No, of course not. Hank is one of my best, of course he’s right for this job.”

Hank smothered his anger at Gavin before it took over him. The way Gavin said ‘close’, as if it was something weird, or odd, or even revolting, made Hank want to punch the bastard in the fucking mouth. To insinuate that his relationship with Connor made things any different than if his relationship had been with a human made his blood boil. It had been years since the android revolution and they were still having to put up with this shit.

“We’re not up against androids, we’re up against an android. Elijah Kamski’s personal hitman.” 

Fowler pressed the button on the remote, and the image changed.

Hank barely heard Fowler speak. All he saw was the image up on the wall. His heart stopped dead in his chest from sheer shock.

“RK800.”

There, projected on the wall, was a photo of Connor.

It was a CCTV picture of Connor coming out of a building. He didn’t look any different than what he usually did, despite the graininess of the image. Same jacket; same hairstyle; same way of carrying himself.

“That isn’t funny,” Hank said quietly.

“What?” Fowler frowned. Both he and Gavin looked at Hank in confusion.

“I said that isn’t funny,” Hank repeated. “I understand that android and human relationships are still considered taboo and all that, but to pull a joke like this is just cruel.”

“What the hell are you talking ab”-

“That’s my husband!” Hank shouted angrily, standing up and pointing at the wall. 

“Hank, this is RK800, Elijah Kamski’s”-

“Oh, just drop the act already for fuck’s sake.”

“Hank.” Fowler clicked the button on the remote again. 

The image changed. This one was of Connor and Elijah Kamski conversing outside a restaurant in downtown Detroit. Another image. Connor coming out of Elijah Kamski’s house, unmistakably shoving something into the back of his trousers. It didn’t take a genius to guess what it was. Another image. The AAA parade where lead activist Uriah Mannon was assassinated. Fowler pointed to the roof of a nearby building, where a sniper had clearly been mounted. The only thing visible of the person behind the gun, however, was the red glow of an android’s LED. Connor’s LED. Hank wouldn’t mistake Connor for anyone, even if most of his face was obscured by a weapon.

“This has got to be a joke,” Hank insisted. “Is Connor in on this somehow?”

“Connor?” Fowler frowned.

“That’s his name dickwad.”

“I only know him by his model type. RK800.” Fowled cocked his head. “Do you even know what RK800 means, Hank?”

“Yeah, he’s an android prototype built specifically to work for the police,” Hank explained.

Gavin snickered. “That’s what RK900 is for, you idiot.”

Hank took a swing at Gavin but was dragged back by Fowler. “Are you telling me that you are married to our target?” Fowler asked slowly.

“Am I?” Hank helplessly replied. He had no fucking clue what was going on anymore.

“The RK800 model was designed by Elijah Kamski as a top-grade assassin android,” Fowler explained. 

Hank pulled away. “You’re fucking with me. You have to be.”

“Have you ever actually seen RK800 go to work? Have you ever since him physically working at a police department?” Gavin enquired.

Hank didn’t want to admit that he hadn’t. Not since the day they met at the DPD. He had always been too consumed in his own work, trying to hide the fact that he was a hitman from Connor that he had never stopped to think too hard about Connor’s own work. He had always just assumed that Connor was . . . doing his job. Why would he think otherwise? 

Hank was too wrapped up in his own secrets that he had never considered that Connor might have his own.

“I can’t believe you’ve been married to Elijah Kamski’s assassin for three years and you didn’t even realise,” Gavin sniggered.

“He’s not an assassin!” Hank insisted. “He’s just . . . Connor.”

“Is . . . _Connor’s_ . . . model type RK800?” Fowler watched Hank carefully, knowing full well that the older man was already beginning to doubt himself.

“Well, yeah.”

“Well, facts are facts Hank. RK800 is an assassin droid,” Fowler shrugged. “And we must take him out before he takes us out.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, we’re not taking anyone out, especially not Connor!” Hank exclaimed. “Are you insane?!”

“You do realise that RK800 has probably already been given the order to take both you and Gavin out in order to reach me?” Fowler raised his eyebrows in wait for Hank’s answer.

“You’re both fucking sick,” Hank muttered. He turned his back on them and headed for the door.

“Hank”-

“Shut the fuck up.” Hank turned around and glared at them both. “Call me when you have a proper case. Or, in fact, don’t. I’m taking the week off.”

“At least stay vigilant!” Fowler shouted. “He’s trained for this shit and he’s a fucking android, so he has a natural upper hand! You can’t let him kill you!”

Hank scowled and threw the door opened. “Urgent my ass,” he muttered as he left.

Hank took a long drive out of town. Hundreds of thoughts were filling his brain and he didn’t know how to get them straight in his head. 

What the actual fuck had that been? Some sort of sick joke? Hank didn’t know what to think. He didn’t know what the fuck was going on right now. Connor? Ordered to kill him? This was fucking ridiculous. It had to be some sort of prank. He knew that Gavin and Fowler had found it strange that he was married to an android but to take it this far? To insinuate that Connor was intending to kill him and that he must kill him first? Did they honestly believe that he was dumb enough to fall for shit like that?

The scary thing was, Hank was beginning to doubt himself. He had never seen Connor working in a police department. They had bumped into each other in the DPD, sure, but Hank had left with Connor’s number in his pocket before seeing Connor do any actual work. Then Connor had ‘transferred’. Almost as if he was afraid of Hank, who he had believed also worked at the DPD, would notice that he wasn’t there . . .

That was something else: They never talked about work to each other. Hank had never found that weird until he thought about it deeper. He had always just assumed that Connor was like him and didn’t like to bring work home with him. So, they talked about everything else to do with their day apart from their jobs. What if Connor didn’t talk about work for the same reason that Hank didn’t? He was worried that he would slip up and make some sort of mistake in his stories?

That added on top of their ridiculous hours and the fact that their times at home rarely coincided with one another . . . 

And Connor had been called into work early this morning, just like Hank had been. Almost like he was going to be informed of the exact same stuff. Meaning that, quite possibly, Connor now knew exactly what Hank was now and had been given the exact same orders. To kill him.

No, this was all bullshit, it had to be. Connor was his husband. They had been married for three years now. There was no way that Connor had been sneaking around assassinating people just like Hank had been doing. Surely, he would have noticed! This was so dumb.

Yet, when he got home later that day, Hank couldn’t help searching the house to make sure that Connor wasn’t home. He convinced himself that he was just checking the house to make sure that Sumo didn’t have an accident, which was stupid in itself because Sumo was well trained, but he found himself praying that Connor wasn’t there. 

Hank shook himself off as he re-entered the kitchen and forced himself to laugh. Sumo was staring at him from his bed, clearly thinking he was insane. Maybe he was insane. When Connor did get home, he would tell him all about it and they would laugh.

Standing by the islet reminded Hank of the note from this morning. He retrieved the pasta salad Connor had promised from the fridge. See? There was no way Connor was what Fowler said he was. He cared for Hank. God, this was going to make a hilarious story. Connor was going to be beside himself when he found out that Hank almost believed that he was some sort of ninja assassin.

Hank pulled a free beer out of the fridge and cracked it open. It was fish salad. Nice. Forcing that Omega 3 in while he was at it. Oh, the joys of having a paranoid husband.

Hank was about to take his first bite when something randomly popped into his head. He lifted the fork to his eyes and examined the meat carefully. It was . . . Pufferfish. That was odd, to say the least. Who thinks, _‘Oh, I’m putting together a salad, better buy some Pufferfish!’_ And out of all the days to make a fish salad, Connor chose today. Why? And why Pufferfish?

Hank dropped his fork.

Tetrodotoxin.

Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: For anyone who doesn't know, Tetrodotoxin is a neurotoxin commonly found in Pufferfish. Pufferfish has to be prepared a particular way or else it becomes extremely poisonous to the consumer. Rosa Klebb favoured this form of poisoning in _"From Russia with Love"_ in the James Bond franchise. I think. That's what the article said anyway!
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3


	3. Secrets and Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank confronts Connor and they face off with one another.

Chapter Three

Hank sat in the living room, waiting for Connor to get home. The house was shrouded in thick darkness, not a single light on, so that his partner would believe that he was asleep. His gun dug into his side, stored in the inside pocket of his jacket. Hank had no intention of using the weapon, but it made him feel more comfortable, especially after figuring out what was in the salad.

He couldn’t get his thoughts straight in his head. It all _could_ have been a coincidence, but how much leeway can you grant for coincidence before it becomes ridiculous?

If this was all purely coincidence, then that meant that these three things were true:

One: Connor had never made fish salad before during their entire marriage.

Two: The day that Connor randomly decided to make a fish salad is the same day Hank was informed that his husband was a hitman, his next hit being Hank himself.

Three: The fish Connor chose to use for this sudden fish salad was Pufferfish, a fish famous for its tetrodotoxin content. Tetrodotoxin being a popular poison amongst hitman who preferred more . . . discreet means of getting the job done.

Hank didn’t want to believe. Hell, he had fought Fowler and Gavin-people he had known long before he had met Connor-in insistence of Connor’s innocence. But the evidence stacked up too much. Coincidence was fine and dandy, but Hank had never been one to believe in it and he found it harder to believe it now that it was personal.

Connor . . . A hitman. Hank was astounded. His first reaction was to wonder why the hell Connor had never told him, but it only reminded Hank of his own dishonesty. Dishonesty which Connor was surely now aware of as well. If this was all true, that was. Hank didn’t know if he was one hundred percent convinced.

Connor didn’t get home until one in the morning. Sumo reacted with excitement, jumping from his bed and running in circles around his ankles.

“Hey buddy,” Connor whispered, flicking the light on and dousing the kitchen in a horrible blinding glow. “Need to go outside quickly?” He let Sumo out to go to the toilet. 

It was then that he noticed the salad, which was still sitting on the islet.

Hank watched Connor examine the salad critically, his face difficult to read. From the side of the islet he stood by, Hank couldn’t see the android’s LED, so determining what he was feeling in that moment was impossible. 

Connor glanced up and started when he saw Hank sitting there. 

“Why are you still awake? Don’t you have work later?” he asked.

Hank faltered for a moment. Connor sounded so concerned, so genuine, that he was immediately filled with doubt. “I got some time off,” he said simply.

Connor nodded. He gestured to the salad. “Not hungry?”

Hank shook his head. “I’m not really a big fan of fish.”

“I didn’t realise,” Connor quietly murmured.

Sumo started scratching at the door, so Connor let the dog back in. As if sensing some sort of tension in the air, Sumo immediately left the kitchen and plodded down the hall into their bedroom. Sometimes he would sleep there with them, usually during thunderstorms or had visited the vet that day. 

“Yeah, I’m not too fussed with Pufferfish in particular,” Hank said carefully.

“Oh?” Connor asked as he locked the door behind him. He moved back to the islet and picked the bowl up, dumping the contents into the bin. “Why’s that?”

Hank watched every move Connor made, his assassin senses tingling throughout his body. His hair stood on end, like there was static electricity in the air. “I don’t like the taste of tetrodotoxin.”

The only sign Hank got was Connor’s LED turning red. He immediately acted, pulling his gun out of his pocket and pointing it at his partner. He was just in time to meet Connor’s own weapon, which had also been whipped out in a blink of an eye and was now aimed towards Hank.

Gobsmacked, the pair stared at one another for a moment. 

“So, it’s true,” Connor breathed.

“It appears so,” Hank responded.

“I didn’t want to believe it . . .” Connor trailed off.

“Not enough to resist attempting to poison me!” Hank snapped angrily, standing up. “I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt but there you were already writing my obituar”-

“You’re cohorting with an AAA associate!” Connor barked back. “What did you expect?!”

“Who? _Fowler_? He knows people from the AAA, sure, but he’s not involved himself!” Hank exclaimed.

“And you’re just _okay_ with that?!”

“Of course not! But Fowler practically resurrected me like fucking Jesus Christ for the love of fucking God! I’m not going to dump him because of his friends!” Hank’s face twisted. He couldn’t believe this conversation was happening. “Do you think I would commit murder for just anyone?!”

Connor’s LED was flickering, exposing his own struggle despite his annoyed expression, his eyes blinkering alongside the flashing light. Hank ground his teeth together, resisting the natural urge to hug and comfort Connor, like he always did when his LED went haywire. It was instinct, second nature, and resisting was almost painful.

“Did you kill Mary-Anne Hooper?” Hank asked.

Connor’s nose twitched, his lip curling at the mention of her name. “She was trying to get a bill passed for the deactivation of deviant androids. She was getting too close. She had to be stopped.”

“Oh, and I suppose Kamski told you that?” Hank scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“Oh, and I suppose Fowler told you that Charles Henderson deserved to die as well?” Connor threw back acidly.

They glared at one another for another long moment.

“Give me the code,” Connor demanded.

Hank actually laughed. “You think I have it?” he chuckled. He frowned. “What is it?”

Now it was Connor’s turn to laugh. “Do you think I’m going to tell you?” He slowly crept around the islet, gun still in hand. Hank moved closer too, his arm surprisingly steady. “I can’t trust you anymore.”

“Says the one who tried to _poison_ me.”

Connor narrowed his eyes. “That was a rudimentary attempt at poisoning. Any hitman worth his salt would immediately recognise the use of Pufferfish in a meal.” For the first time since they had started arguing, Connor broke eye contact. He looked at the floor, his eyebrows pulling together. “I was enraged when Kamski told me who you worked for, and I acted on impulse and emotion. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.”

Hank didn’t need to ask to know that Connor wasn’t putting on some sort of act. What need would Connor have to apologise now that they knew the truth about one another unless he was being honest and genuine?

“There’s no use saying sorry. We have to kill each other now,” Hank muttered.

“Do you think I _want_ to kill you?” Connor snapped, taking another few steps closer to Hank. 

“Honestly, you could have fooled me,” Hank threw back.

“Believe it or not, I don’t make a habit of killing spouses!” 

“Spouses? Plural? Are you trying to tell me that you lied about your past as well?”

Connor was so close that his face was inches from the barrel of Hank’s gun. “There’s only ever been you, you foolish man!” he yelled. “And look what a mess it has turned out to be!”

“And how am I supposed to believe that now? After all of this?” Hank challenged. “For all I know, I could simply be another notch in your fucking belt.”

Connor’s face twisted, and he swiped at Hank, taking the older man by surprise and knocking the gun clean from his hand. Hank shook his shock off quick and grabbed the android’s gun arm before he could do anything with it. He pushed the younger man against the islet, forcing the hand with the gun high above their heads.

“Drop it!” he shouted at Connor. “Drop it now!”

Connor smiled a sickly-sweet smile at Hank and released the gun. It clattered to the ground, smacking the tiled floor with a horrific slap. He wrenched his arm out of Hank’s grasp and pushed him away from him. Both stared at each other, Hank’s chest heaving and Connor’s LED flashing like Christmas lights.

“What were you doing in the DPD that day?” Connor demanded to know.

“What?” Hank panted.

“The day we met. What were you doing in the DPD, if not working?”

Hank wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I was working undercover. Getting information on a target. What about you, _android prototype_?”

“I am a prototype,” Connor answered flatly. Hank remembered a time when the younger man would never have spotted sarcasm in his tone. They had come such a long way, just to reach . . . this. “Kamski has an informant in the police department-don’t bother asking who-and I had been sent because they had information on the AAA.”

“So, is that it? You and Kamski against an entire political movement?” Hank laughed, the sound tired and empty.

“Kamski has an entire team behind him. Can you say the same for Fowler?” Connor answered.

Hank thought of earlier that day, when he; Gavin and Fowler had gathered in Fowler’s apartment. The two of them were pretty much all Fowler had. The only people he truly trusted. Hank didn’t care. It wasn’t about support or who was rallying behind him, it was about trust and respect.

“I am one of many,” Connor continued. “I am simply the one who takes care of the dirtier tasks.”

Hank scoffed, shaking his head. “Ah, so you’re the one who sucks his dick then, huh?” It was a childish joke, but it made him feel better.

Connor, however, did not appreciate this. He grabbed Hank by his shirt and slammed him against the nearest wall. There was a lot of strength built into Connor, but he never exerted it unless he had to, and never had he ever used it against Hank. As they both glared into one another’s eyes and a small pain blossomed at the bottom of Hank’s back, the older man had a feeling that that was not even half of the type of damage Connor was capable of.

“Don’t you dare insinuate that I was ever unfaithful to you, Hank Anderson,” Connor snarled. 

Hank glared. “We’re assassins, Connor, morale is hardly on the top of our lists anyways.”

Connor’s fingers tightened around Hank’s shirt. “Are you trying to tell me that you were unfaithful?” he asked.

It had not occurred to Hank how rage inducing such an accusation was until it was thrown back into his face. “Of course not, you stupid man,” he growled back. He pushed Connor and was surprised when the android released him without putting up a fight. “I proposed to you, do you think I’d do that just to fuck around with someone behind your back?”

“I don’t know anything anymore,” Connor said slowly.

“I married you, Connor. If I was going to fuck you around, I wouldn’t have bothered! There is no one in the fucking world who would ever compare to you anyway!”

Connor’s LED shorted out for a second and his eyes glitched out along with it. For a terrifying moment, Hank thought that Connor had shut down. It was only brief, and barely a moment later, Connor was glaring at him again.

“Then why didn’t you tell me about what you did for a living?” he demanded.

Hank scowled. “Why didn’t _I_ tell _you_?” he snapped. “Why didn’t _you_ tell _me_?”

“I thought you would be disgusted with me!” Connor yelled. “I thought you would leave me if you knew that I had killed people! It turns out I had nothing to worry about because you’re just as bad as I am!”

“I had more reason to be worried than you do! At least I didn’t attempt to poison you the second I found out about you!” Hank shouted back. “Tetrodotoxin. Do you know how cowardly it is to poison someone?”

Hank swiped one of the guns off the floor and forced it into Connor’s hand. He placed the barrel right between his eyes.

“If you’re going to kill me, then you’re going to look me in the eyes when you do it,” Hank growled, his voice low.

Connor stared at Hank with wide eyes. He held the gun steady, not a single tremor to his grip, but he wasn’t making any move to shoot. Hank could count the small scattering of freckles on his partner’s cheeks, the many nights he had traced them like a dot to dot puzzle while Connor slept coming to mind. How he had brushed his thumb over every mole in his lover’s skin; pressed his lips to every inch of skin; pressed their foreheads together, desperately trying to transmit how much he fucking loved Connor and everything he was and would be.

And how much he still loved him, even now, with a gun to his head.

It filled him with rage.

“Can’t do it, huh?” Hank grabbed the gun and twisted Connor’s arm up his back, forcing him against the wall that he had only a second ago had his back against. “What sort of assassin are you if you can’t even kill a target that is offering themselves up?” he snarled into Connor’s ear.

“You’re more than a target and you know that!” Connor shouted, one side of his face smushed against the wall.

“Oh, change of heart, huh? Were you thinking that when you were preparing that delicious salad?”

“I told you why I did that! I knew you weren’t going to eat it anyway!”

Hank snatched the gun from Connor’s hand and released him. When Connor spun around, fire in his eyes, Hank shoved the barrel under his chin, the strain pushing the android back against the wall. 

“What if I don’t have a change of heart? What if I am deeply upset that you tried to poison me, without even talking to me? What if I didn’t know about tetrodotoxin, Connor? What if you had come home to a corpse? What if Sumo had spent hours sleeping beside my cold, dead body? Did that ever occur to you?” 

Connor ground his teeth together, his neck stretched to accommodate the space that the gun needed. “I knew that you wouldn’t fall for it. The probability of an assassin of your age and history not knowing what tetrodotoxin is was 4%,” he calmly explained. A pause. “If I truly wanted you dead, you would already be so.”

Hank raised his eyebrows and scoffed. “You sound very sure about that.”

“I don’t need to be sure when my probability vector is working at one hundred percent,” Connor responded.

“Okay, smartass, what’s stopping you from preventing me from pulling this trigger then?” Hank asked.

Connor’s face was hard to read. His LED had been stuck on red for the past ten minutes. “Nothing.”

Despite what he had said, Connor made no move to do anything to Hank. Their eyes locked on each other. The air was thick and tense, the gun being the only thing stopping them from being completely pressed together. Hank could see those damn freckles even clearer now that their faces were closer. 

It was unclear who kissed who. Who it was that closed the distance between their mouths. It was most likely Hank, since Connor had a gun shoved underneath his chin. It was still unclear though. Not that it mattered to either of them. It definitely didn’t matter to Hank. 

Kissing Connor was like tasting rainwater for the first time. Like the moment you think, “fuck it,” and run outside in torrential rain and spin around like a madman, cackling like no one is watching and allowing the water to fill your open mouth. Water that falls from the sky to replenish, a kiss from Connor was like a breath of life into Hank’s old, knackered heart, and each time felt like it had added ten years to his sorry existence.

Things heated up pretty fast. Running on adrenalin and rage, Hank was pouring everything he felt into Connor, making sure he felt every fresh hot emotion scorching his chest in the same way he did. 

Hank shoved the gun into his back pocket so that he could touch his lover, pushing him up the wall with his body until the android’s feet barely touched the ground. Connor’s fingers were in Hank’s hair, scratching his scalp and sending shivers down his spine. Hank could feel the warm air emanating from Connor’s heating interior systems through his open mouth. His hands could even feel it through the android’s clothes and Hank pushed his hand underneath Connor’s shirt to feel it skin to skin.

The effect that they could have on each other so quickly had clearly not been changed by the things they now knew. 

“God, I love you,” Hank murmured into Connor’s mouth.

“I love you, too,” Connor murmured back.

Something cold touched the side of Hank’s head.

The gun was gone from his pocket.

Hank pulled back from the kiss. Connor’s skin had retracted around his mouth, but his colouring slowly crawled back as he said, “Let me leave.”

Hank stepped back and gave Connor some space. The younger man kept the gun pointed at Hank, but didn’t make any move to shoot. His cheeks were stained pale blue. “Where are you wanting to go?” Hank asked.

“My job is to get the code,” Connor stated. “If you stay out of my way, maybe we can get through this without hurting each other.”

“Does getting this code involve hurting Fowler?” Hank asked.

“If he gets in my way.”

“I can’t let that happen.”

Connor moved to the door to the house. Hank didn’t bother retrieving the other gun. What was he going to do? Shoot Connor? They had already established that they were shit assassins when it came to this one task they had both been given. Hank even knew that Connor wasn’t going to shoot him now. It was simply a precaution to make sure Hank would let him leave.

“Don’t get in my way, Hank,” Connor warned.

“Or what? You’ll force feed me the Pufferfish this time?” Hank challenged.

Connor chuckled, and somehow Hank found himself smiling too. “Don’t tempt me,” he said.

“Temptation is my M.O. It’s how I ensnared you, isn’t it?” Hank replied.

“That’s not exactly how I recall it, but sure, if that keeps you happy.”

They smiled at each other. It was extremely odd, considering they were under orders to kill one another and Connor was currently pointing a gun at Hank’s head. It felt Hank had discovered a whole new layer to Connor and instead of being disgusted, like Connor had expected, Hank felt the temptation to embrace it.

It was only this task that stood between that and them.

“Don’t get in my way,” Connor repeated, turning the door handle while still facing Hank.

Hank grinned. “Getting in the way is what I do best.”

Then, Connor was gone. Vanished like a ghost into the night.


	4. The Window

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank decides on how he is going to proceed now that he knew what he does about Connor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you everyone for the amazing response to this story! Each and every one of you mean the world to me! <3
> 
> I just want to say that this story does deviate (ha, get it) from the plot of Mr and Mrs Smith from the offset. I'm sure most of you guys have already noticed that. The general idea was simply born from the premise of that movie and I felt that I had to credit it as such just so my readers knew. The majority of this story is completely from my own brainio. I hope that is alright with everyone!

Chapter Four

Gavin’s laughter beat itself into Hank’s brain like a sledgehammer. He had this ugly smug look on his face and it made him look more punchable than usual. 

“This is brilliant!” the asshole cackled. “You have been married to Kamski’s personal assassin for three years! And you didn’t fucking realise!”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, Gavin,” Hank snapped. “Connor had no idea either.”

“I know, it’s fantastic! You’re both as bad as each other! And the best thing is that he’s an android and he still didn’t figure out what you did for a living!”

“I think you have made you amusement of the situation abundantly clear, Gavin,” Fowler calmly stated, entering the living room from the kitchen area with three mugs balanced precariously in his hands. “Now please cease.”

Gavin jumped over the back of the sofa, landing silently beside Hank. “Come on, you must find it a little bit amusing.”

“No,” Fowler answered shortly. He passed Hank a mug of coffee. “This is obviously an extremely uncomfortable situation for Hank, and your jibes are not helping any.”

“I’m sorry, Fowler, but you couldn’t make this shit up!” Gavin chuckled.

Hank had been dealing with Gavin’s bullshit since they had gathered in Fowler’s apartment. After what had happened the previous night with Connor, Hank knew that the only people he could talk to about it were the two people who had warned him about it. Even if he had to endure Gavin’s childish jibs. 

“So, run it past me again,” Fowler said gently, sitting across from Hank. He gave Gavin a cup of coffee and gave him a look that warned him not to speak. “He just . . . left?”

“Yeah,” Hank sighed miserably. “He left and didn’t come home again. I don’t expect he will until he gets the code.”

Fowler nodded in understanding. “And this was . . . after he tried to poison you?”

Hank shook his head. “He knew that I wouldn’t eat it.”

“How can you be so sure?” Gavin asked. It was clear that he was having trouble keeping his amusement from his voice but at least he was making some form of effort. “How was _he_ so sure?”

“His probability vector is working at one hundred percent,” Hank said absentmindedly.

Fowler took a long sip of coffee. Hank was surprised about how his boss was so calm about the situation. About the fact that he had just let Connor leave last night. It wasn’t a secret that Fowler had a softer spot for Hank than he let on, and Hank was still waiting to see what the limit to that softness was.

“So, how do you plan to move forward with this case?” Fowler asked.

“How do _you_ plan to move forward with this case?” Hank asked back.

“If RK800”-

“Can you please call him Connor? Calling him by his model number makes him sound like an object,” Hank requested.

“After what he tried to do, I’d be calling him fuckface,” Gavin commented.

Hank looked at Gavin. “He said sorry.”

“Well, Jesus, that makes it all better, doesn’t it?” Gavin exclaimed.

Fowler made a point of ignoring Gavin. “If Connor does not try to hurt us, I shall not harm him.”

That was the answer Hank had expected. It was not the one he wanted. Connor had made it clear that he would do whatever it took to obtain the code, even if he had to go through Fowler to get it.

“Can’t we just let him have the code?” Hank asked. “It means nothing to us, but it clearly means a lot to them.”

Fowler shook his head. “Mary-Anne gave this code to me. It is clearly of some sort of value.”

“We don’t even know what it is,” Hank insisted.

“I know a decoder in Mississippi, he going to try to work out what the hell the code is and what it is for. I’ve sent them a copy, but it might take a while. He’s working on it, though,” Gavin explained.

Hank ran a frustrated hand over his face. Fowler noticed his distress immediately. “You can step away from the case, if you want. You did say that you were taking time off.”

“That’s because I was pissed off thinking that you were winding me up about Connor,” Hank answered. “I can’t not work now. I need something to do. To occupy my brain. Otherwise I’m going to go mad ruminating on what the hell Connor is up to.”

“No one knows you better than Connor. You both could be liabilities to each other,” Fowler responded critically. “Neither of you killed one another last night, despite your orders from your respective parties.”

Hank closed his eyes, wishing that he could just block this entire mess out. Wait for it to solve itself so that he could go home; have a zero percent beer; walk his dog; and have searing hot, unrelenting and passionate sex with his husband like he used to be able to do. Damn, what he would give to pretend that none of this was happening. To _have_ none of this happening.

“If I can keep Connor away from you, without killing him, would that do?” 

Fowler raised his eyebrows, intrigued. “You’re married to an android, Hank. Do you honestly think that you can keep him away from a mission he has set out to achieve?”

Hank looked Fowler dead in the eyes. “Connor may be an android, but he is an android I have been married to for three years. I dated him for two years before that. Five years is a long time to know someone. I know Connor back to front,” Hank stated. “Trust me, I have my ways.”

“You can’t fuck loyalty out of him, Hank,” Gavin grinned.

Hank rolled his eyes and resisted the urge to throw his coffee in Gavin’s face. He didn’t take his gaze away from Fowler to ensure that his boss knew that he was serious. He’d make Gavin pay for the comment later.

“If you believe that you can do it, by all means try,” Fowler said. “But if Connor gets too close, I will have Gavin take him out.”

Hank nodded. “I understand.”

Fowler grinned and steepled his fingers. “Well, this will certainly be an interesting endeavour.”

“I would recommend staying somewhere besides this apartment. Connor most likely already knows where you live and is waiting for the right time to strike. Go somewhere random, somewhere not on record,” Hank explained. 

“What will you do in the mean time?” Fowler asked.

“I’m going to stay here. Connor will show up here looking for you eventually. He’ll find me instead.” Hank thought about it for a moment. “Go out through the back. He could be possibly staking this place right this minute.”

Appreciating that Hank was taking the matter seriously, Fowler nodded his understanding. He and Gavin finished their coffee and collected a few things from the apartment to bring for however long Fowler had to stay away. Hank could see the envelope with the code in it peeking out from the inside of Fowler’s coat as they made their way to the door.

“Oh, by the way, Gavin,” Hank called. Gavin turned from the door and looked at him with a frown. “Can you go to my house and make sure that my dog has food?”

Hank had no doubt that Connor would most likely have checked upon that matter himself, maybe even having walked Sumo as well, but he just wanted to make sure. And the sour look Gavin got on his face from being given such a mediocre task was worth it. Hank grinned and tossed Gavin the keys before he could say no.

“Don’t lose those or I’ll have you,” Hank said.

Anything Gavin may have said in response was cut off by Fowler, who curtly replied, “He won’t.”

Hank watched the pair leave. He purposely didn’t have them tell him where they were going. He was no snitch, and would never betray Fowler on an ordinary day, but this was a different case altogether. This was Connor he was contending with. The same Connor who could get him to admit he had visited Chicken Feed behind his back simply by giving him a particular look. He wanted to be extra safe. Everything to do with this case had to be approached differently, with a fresh perspective.

There wasn’t a lot to do in Fowler’s apartment besides watch television. The first thing he did was double check that Fowler still kept his gun beneath the sink. He felt more when he knew that it was there. It gave Hank a sense of security. 

At least Fowler had a decent T.V, expect Hank felt weird sitting alone on the sofa. He would usually watch T.V with Connor by his side and Sumo at his feet. Connor’s absence was glaringly obvious, and extremely difficult to ignore. It was amplified by the possibility that they may never be able to return to that simple domestic makeup that they had lived with for so long now.

When Hank got tired of watching reruns of Cash in the Attic, he started to wander around. He had only ever been in the living area and kitchen part of Fowler’s place, occasionally the bathroom, and he was curious as to how big the apartment really was. 

There was a guest bedroom, which was good. At least he would have somewhere to sleep if Connor didn’t immediately turn up. There wasn’t much to the room and it was pretty much your standard guest bedroom. Drawers empty; shelves bare; bed covers untouched, all of it waiting to be filled by whatever guest was going to spend their time there.

Hank ventured into Fowler’s room. The air was thick with the cologne, the scent hitting Hank in the face the instant he entered. It was much more lived in than the guest room. It felt more worn and used and . . . homely. There were photos on the bedside table. Fowler and his ex-wife. Fowler and his girlfriend. Fowler and his mistress. Hank chuckled and shook his head. Fowler certainly got around, that was for sure. It wasn’t Hank’s place to judge on the matter. It wasn’t to his personal taste to go around with multiple people at once, but maybe he was a bore in that regard.

There was a pair of woman’s underwear beside the sink in the en-suite bathroom, and Hank decided to leave them be. When he was re-entering the room, he noticed a photograph on the wall. It was of Fowler with a man. Probably a friend of some sort. The man looked familiar, but Hank couldn’t place where from. It probably wasn’t important. And, if it was, he would eventually figure it out.

He was relieved to discover that Fowler had zero percent beer in the fridge. At least he wasn’t going to be lectured by Connor about his health anymore. That’s one thing he wouldn’t miss. Although, if it meant that everything went back to normal again, he would take Connor’s lecturing all day long.

Hank was pretending to himself that he had a handle on things. As he drank his beer while watching some crappy sitcom; while he ate the pizza that he had ordered at midnight; while he scoured the guest bathroom for a spare toothbrush and climbed into bed. He pretended that everything was okay when he decided that he would sleep lightly, just in case Connor decided to strike at night time.

The truth was, Hank didn’t have a handle on any of this. He had no fucking idea what he was doing. He didn’t know if he was going to be able to keep Connor away from Fowler. He didn’t know if he would be able to get through this bullshit of a problem without one or both of them getting hurt or killed. There was a ball of lead in his stomach, a ball of unshifting fear burning like a fire inside of him. 

The fear that he had never thought that he would have to experience. The sort of fear that he had never concerned himself with thinking about because he was the old man. He was the middle-aged old crone who, while having many years left, still was far, far ahead. Much father ahead. This fear was one he was convinced was someone else’s problem and, while cruel to be thankful that it wasn’t going to bother him, it relieved him nonetheless. 

But now he was forced to feel it. Experience it in full abundance and force. 

The fear of losing Connor. The fear of his husband passing away; of dying before his time; of being murdered right before his eyes. Murdered by his own hand.

Connor had always said that he could be replaced. Even when they were dating the android used to joke that if anything happened to him Hank could simply get a replacement. Hank had never liked it when Connor would talk like that. Besides, replacement androids hadn’t been a thing since the android revolution. Even if it had still been possible, Hank could never have gotten a replacement. 

Connor was Connor. He was unique. One of a kind. That’s why Hank loved him so much. There was no way that Hank could have gotten another android that played with a coin when he was nervous. Known another man who liked his thirium warm but not too hot. Found another partner whose eyes fluttered whenever his fingertips were lightly kissed. Hank could not imagine finding another man like Connor. And he truly knew that he wouldn’t.

It wasn’t so bad spending his time at Fowler’s apartment. He would receive updates from Fowler and Gavin each day. He never asked where they were, and they never let it slip. It was better that way. He was a bit edgy, jumping whenever the room would settle, or the door would rattle whenever people passed. Hank wasn’t as young as he used to be, and his nerves were slightly more on edge than usual. Sometimes it felt like Connor was just going to burst out of the guest room wardrobe without warning. Other times Hank wondered if he was wrong and Connor hadn’t figured out where Fowler lived yet and he wasn’t going to show up at all.

It was the end of the week and Hank had sat down to read the newspaper when he remembered that the hadn’t asked Gavin about Sumo since yesterday. He dropped a quick text over to Gavin, and to Fowler just to make sure the message reached them. He didn’t believe that Sumo was in any great danger in his absence because, even if Gavin forgot, Hank was positive that Connor wouldn’t. Secrets and lies and betrayal aside, Connor had fallen in love with Sumo the first day they met. Hank was glad, because he really didn’t want to have to leave Connor simply because he didn’t get on with his dog.

He had just chucked his mobile onto the sofa when there was a creak.

It was a miniscule creak. A creak that your average person would not have been noticed but, after years of sneaking around, Hank was trained to notice. He stood up and retrieved the gun from beneath the sink, careful not to make a sound. The creak had come from the direction of Fowler’s room, so he slowly made his way down the hallway. Thankfully, he was in his bare feet and didn’t have to worry about them making noise of their own.

Hank lingered outside Fowler’s door but didn’t hear anything inside. He carefully nudged the door open with his gun and peered inside. Nothing was there. No one was there. The room was untouched. Not a single sock out of place. Hank checked behind the door and in the en-suite. Nothing.

Deciding that he was just being paranoid again, Hank muttered an obscenity beneath his breath and turned to leave.

And there stood Connor. Right behind him. In the doorway to Fowler’s room.

“Lieutenant,” Connor said.

“Ha ha, very funny,” Hank sneered.

Connor’s lips quirked up into a smile. That simple gesture caused the ball of fear in Hank’s stomach to loosen. Despite the gun in his hand. Despite the prominent outline of a gun in Connor’s back pocket. It had nearly been a week since they had seen one another, and Hank had not realised until that very moment how much he had missed the simple luxury of seeing his husband smile.

“How are you?” Connor asked.

“As well as I can be,” Hank answered. “How are you?”

Connor closed his eyes. “I’ve missed you,” he reluctantly admitted.

Hank nodded. He had missed Connor too. It had been so long since they had spent so much time apart. Even if it was just glimpses in the morning and glimpses in the evening, at least they were seeing each other. At least Hank was able to kiss him good morning and kiss him goodnight. This was on a whole different level to what they were used to.

“Fowler isn’t here,” Hank informed him.

Connor nodded. “I gathered.”

“Go on then,” Hank said, “tell me how you got in.”

“In through the window,” Connor answered. “I gained access to the apartment above this one and climbed down from the balcony to the window ledge. Then all I needed was a lock pick. Easy enough to obtain.”

“Lock pick,” Hank laughed. “That makes a change from when you tried get in through my window when we were dating.”

Connor rolled his eyes. “That was a different situation altogether.”

“I know. I drank my body weight in booze and you rescued me.”

“Back when I didn’t have a key.”

It was a bittersweet memory. They had only been dating a few months, and Hank already knew that he was falling hard for Connor. When the anniversary of Cole’s death arrived that year, it hit him harder than it usually did. Maybe it was because it had been five years to the day, maybe it was because Connor was now in the picture and at the time he had yet to tell him about his son. Whatever the reason, it had caused Hank to relapse and drink himself into a stupor.

Hank still didn’t remember a lot about that day. He had blacked out; fell out of his chair; and hit the floor hard enough to give himself a concussion. Next thing he knew he was waking up in hospital with Connor by his bedside. Connor’s arm was sewed together with the temporary cyberlife stitching that they kept in hospitals for android injuries. It hadn’t become completely clear how he had gotten there until he was released and allowed to go home. 

Where he had then found his kitchen window still hanging open.

Connor had come to visit Hank that evening and when he didn’t answer the door, he had wandered around the side of the house. He had seen Hank lying on the floor through the kitchen window and had promptly thrown himself through. It had only been opened the smallest bits and it had been locked in place, so Connor had had to squeeze himself through the tiny opening, which had caused him to fall through and slice his arm open on a broken beer bottle. 

Connor had done it without thinking. As soon as he had seen Hank on the floor, he had squeezed himself through that window, despite it being a quarter of his size, even though he had only known Hank for a couple of months. It was in that moment that Hank knew that he couldn’t let this man go. Someone who would hurt themselves like that just to help someone they didn’t even know that well yet, without even thinking twice, was not someone you let slip through your fingers. Not without a fight.

It felt like that had been so long ago. Now Connor had a key and didn’t have to squeeze through windows. Despite that, they had somehow come full circle and he was coming in through windows again.

“Have you ever heard that joke?” Hank asked.

Connor raised his eyebrows. “You’ll have to be more specific than that.”

“You’re an intruder.”

“You could say that.”

“How did you get in?”

“I thought I just told you?”

“In-tru-da window.”

Connor’s LED flicked between blue and red as he fully consumed the joke. When it processed, he snickered. “That was so bad,” he said.

“Well, I didn’t make it up. I heard it somewhere,” Hank grinned.

For a moment, everything felt normal again. Like they weren’t standing in Fowler’s apartment, Hank guarding and Connor intruding. It was a moment shared between just the two of them. Just two husbands, sharing a joke. No guns; no cases; no hits on anyone’s heads.

“It was such a dad joke,” Connor chuckled, shaking his head.

“I mean, if we’re going to get technical, I’m old enough to be your dad.”

“That would have to be super technical, considering the fact that I’m an android who has never experienced infancy in the first place.” Connor tilted his head. “Age doesn’t really matter considering that I won’t physically change.”

Hank smirked. “Lucky me, huh?” 

A light shade of blue bloomed in Connor’s cheeks but besides that his face showed no sign of embarrassment. He smirked as well, always having been a sucker for Hank’s flirting. “I can start calling you Daddy, if you want,” he said.

Hank felt his dick twitch in his pants. He exhaled heavily. “I quite liked Lieutenant, you know,” he said.

“I figured you would,” Connor answered.

“Probability vector?”

“I don’t need my probability vector to recognise your superiority complex.”

Hank hadn’t realised that they had drifted towards one another until their faces were inches apart. “Superiority complex, huh?” he asked. His voice was low and gravelly. “I’ve never heard you complain about that before.”

“Did I say I was opposed to it?” Connor responded.

“I don’t know, are you?”

Connor pushed up on his tiptoes the tiniest of bits and leaned in to Hank’s ear. Hank could feel the hot air that escaped from Connor’s lips like a computer fan expelling heat. It made his blood heat up in his veins. His fingers tightened around the handle of his gun, as if it could alleviate his frustration.

“Aren’t we supposed to be staying out of each other’s way?” Connor whispered. “If we keep this up, I might have to kill you.”

Hank chuckled, turning his head so that their noses were inches apart and they were looking each other in the eye. “I’d like to see you try,” he whispered back.

“Don’t tempt me,” Connor murmured, their lips brushing against each other as he spoke.

“I thought we covered this already. Tempting is kind of my thing,” Hank replied.

“Yes, you did mention that it was your _modus operandi_.” Connor paused for a moment thoughtfully before carefully adding, _“Lieutenant.”_

“You little fucker.” Hank grabbed the little shit by the lapels of his jacket and smashed their lips together, closing that tiny gap in one swift movement.

The pair of them just might have been the worst pair of assassins in the whole of Detroit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: We're getting some smut in the next chapter! Smut with plot of course. We've got to keep the story rolling (:
> 
> Also, I heard the in-tru-da window joke from Doctor Who but I don't know if they actually made it up? Maybe they did, I can't be sure. But I've always liked that joke so I couldn't resist using it :P


	5. A Rock and a Hard Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank and Connor have at it.

Chapter Five

Connor’s mouth had hundreds of receptors inside it. They were designed specifically to break down DNA an identify alien substances. Hence why Connor was always sticking his fingers into his mouth when they were coated with foreign liquids. 

“Open your mouth.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, I don’t really fancy tasting Fowler’s cologne,” Connor responded. “It would frazzle my receptors.”

“Oh, quit being a smartass,” Hank growled. He grabbed Connor’s face, his fingers digging into his cheeks so that his lips pursed out. Pulling their faces closer together, he added, “You’re being more snarky than usual. Has my knowledge of your dirty little secret somehow increased your attitude capacitor or something?”

The LED on the side of Connor’s head turned yellow and Hank just knew that his husband was wanting to say something like ‘I don’t have an attitude capacitor’ or ‘there’s no such thing as an attitude capacitor’.

“Would you prefer if I put your attitude to better use? Make those receptors of yours do something more productive for once, since you’ve clearly only been using them to run your mouth lately.”

Connor’s smug expression quickly changed when Hank pushed his fingers past his lips. He put up no resistance though, especially when Hank started attentively stroking the receptors on his tongue. They were sensitive. They had to be, or else they wouldn’t be able to do their job properly. This was information that Hank had loved to abuse. That Connor loved Hank to abuse.

The instant Hank’s finger touched the tiny circuits on the tip of Connor’s tongue, the android’s knees buckled, and he fell to his knees. It was a familiar position, one they had been in many times before. The first time Connor had asked Hank to play with his tongue, Hank had spent the rest of the night trying to figure out if he could somehow manually reboot Connor himself because he was concerned about how long Connor had been shut down for. 

Ever since then, they had always did it lying down or had a cushion laid on the ground to soften the blow to Connor’s knees.

It was different this time. This time they were fuelled with frustration and anger. This time they hadn’t seen each other for a week and had just discovered that they had been lying to one another for years. There was secrets and lies and love and betrayal and a bucket load of lust mixed together into a confusing medley.

Connor’s eyes rolled back into his head and Hank smirked when his LED went nuts. Somehow that flickering light could make Hank harder than any porn put in front of him. _He_ was doing this to Connor. _He_ was the cause. _He_ was making Connor feel this way. It made Hank feel young again. _Connor_ made him feel young. Secrets and lies and love and betrayal and a bucket full of lust aside, Connor always made Hank feel younger and happier and, admittedly, sexier than he had felt for more than a decade.

“Did you feed Sumo?”

Connor’s eyes flicked open again. His face was flushed blue, but his expression was thoughtful. He seemed perplexed by the question. Whether it be because of the spontaneity of the question in the moment or if it was the realisation that he hadn’t actually fed Sumo dawning on him, Hank couldn’t be sure.

“Of course, I fed Sumo,” Connor answered. Hank’s fingers were still in his mouth, obstructing his voice, but what he said was pretty clear. “I figured that you wouldn’t be home, so I took care of it myself.”

Hank nodded, an affectionate smile on his face. “Of course, you did.” He stroked Connor’s tongue again. “You’re still so good, even now, after all of this.”

“Weth Ith wasth gonna leth Sthumo sthuther.”

“Neither was I. That’s why I had Gavin check up on him.” Hank cocked his head. “How often do you think your paths were close to crossing? Almost but not quite? He could have led you straight to Fowler. And you missed him.”

Connor wrapped his long fingers around Hank’s write and pulled his hand out of his mouth. He was smirking. “Do you honestly think that I haven’t noticed Gavin visiting our house?”

Hank frowned. “And you never once tried to follow him back to Fowler?”

Connor looked sheepish. “I only saw him the once.”

“And?”

“And . . .” Connor huffed. “And Sumo spotted me before I could follow. He was so excited to see me, I couldn’t bring myself to immediately leave. So, I took him for a walk instead. Gavin was long gone before I got back.”

This made Hank chuckle. “That fucking dog, huh?”

Connor smiled. “Yeah. That fucking dog.”

Hank loved that dog to death. He couldn’t say that he wouldn’t have done the same thing. Sumo had a way of looking at you, with those tired old eyes, that made your insides melt, and you’d give that damn dog your house if that was what he wanted. 

“Kamski’s RK800 prototype, designed specifically to be his personal assassin, cannot resist the big brown eyes of some old foogie’s dog,” Hank grinned.

Connor rolled his eyes and, without warning, started unbuckling Hank’s belt. He barely moved his hands and the pressure of Hank’s pants was no longer pressing against his crotch. He was unable to contain his sigh of relief.

“I’ve seen that dog guilt you into filling his bowl five times in an hour,” Connor said flatly.

“Yeah, but he’s my dog. It’s different.”

“Oh yeah, completely different . . .”

When androids first started coming to fruition in Detroit, Hank remembered being told that they weren’t capable of understanding concepts such as sarcasm, never mind actually being capable of using it in their own speech. Connor’s deviancy brought a lot of things that disproved many theories about androids, yet he still only used sarcasm sparingly. This caused Hank to always get a little twinge of amusement when Connor was sarcastic and, okay, also extremely aroused.

Hank reached into his underwear and pulled out his dick. Connor’s eyes practically glittered when he saw it, and there was that feeling of being young again. Hank pushed his fingers through Connor’s hair and drew his face close. Size was irrelevant to androids, and Connor always made a point of this, taking in from tip to base without as much as a choke. Once he had asserted this, though, he slowly began to make small gagging sounds.

The sound made Hank’s blood heat up and he groaned, both hands going into his lover’s hair to keep him there. Connor had always been the sort of android to go that extra mile. When they started getting intimate, instead of simply doing what came easiest to him, Connor had done his research on what was customary in human intercourse. The reason he made gagging sounds, despite not having a gag reflex, was because-and this was quoted- _human males take pride in their size and hearing the gagging of their sexual partner causes a flush of arousal connected directly to the human need for domination over another._

Connor liked to pretend that he had everything figured out. That everything he did was down to research and deep thought. Sure, he made gagging sounds because he researched that it made a man’s dick swell, but it never went beneath Hank’s radar that Connor also made tiny moaning noises of his own. Moaning noises that were directly related to the fact that sucking Hank’s dick created friction inside his mouth. Friction that caused his receptors to heat up.

There was something about this time that was different than every other time. Different from when their façade had been the normal married couple. Before now, their sex life-while being great, especially for someone of Hank’s age-had been nothing revolutionary. Now, their intimacy was almost forbidden due to their professions. What they now did, despite being partners, was scandalous because of their work; because of their current job; because of the cases they were currently on. All Hank now needed in order to make it more deliciously heinous was for Kamski to be in the room to see him mouth fucking his precious personal assassin.

Hank groaned again as he could feel himself getting close to his end. He quickly pulled Connor away, dragging the android up to his lips for another searing kiss. Connor understood why, gladly accepting the kiss and embracing Hank as they slowly made out. Hank could feel his dick pressing against Connor’s thigh, and the thought of finally getting to fuck him again caused his grip to tighten around Connor’s waist.

“Why does it feel like it’s been goddamn forever since I’ve fucked you yet its only been a bit more than a week?” Hank growled against Connor’s lips.

“Maybe you’re more of a sex fiend than you realise,” Connor answered, a small smile teasing his lips. “It just took a week for you to fully realise.”

Hank had to look away from Connor, lest he snort in amusement into the android’s face. “Sex fiend,” he repeated. “God, how are you still able to make me laugh when my dick is hard as the road?”

“If it makes you feel any better, I feel that I may be a sex fiend as well,” Connor replied.

“Is that so?”

“Yes.” Connor leaned forward, so his lips were close to Hank’s, and he whispered, “My hand doesn’t feel the same as your dick, even when my sensitivity is up to one hundred percent.”

Hank clenched his jaw and repressed another groan. “Best remedy that, don’t you think?”

Connor nodded, his face falling into the crook of Hank’s neck. “Please,” he breathed. “I’ve missed you so much.”

The thought of Connor humping his own hand, trying to replicate the sensation of Hank fucking his thighs caused Hank’s heart to stop completely for what felt like an entire minute before exploding into a tattoo in his chest. He grabbed Connor’s face and kissed him hard. 

“Of course, your hand doesn’t feel the same,” Hank said, his tone almost scolding. “You must feel the power I have over you as I fuck you. My hands on your body; your fingers in my mouth; my dick between your legs. Your hand can’t give you all of that. That only comes from me.”

“Hank,” Connor pleaded. “Please . . .”

“Fuck you?” Hank raised his eyebrows. He was walking forward, causing Connor to move backward. “In Fowler’s room?”

“In Fowler’s bed,” Connor demanded. His LED was scarlet red, the components that made up his eyeballs dilating alongside the colour change. 

The confirmation that Connor had similar desires to Hank caused him to act. He spun Connor around and forced him onto Fowler’s bed. “Have you turned your sensitivity up?” he asked.

There was a pause. Hank knew when Connor had turned his skin’s sensitivity up because he tensed against the bed. When an android’s sensitivity is up to near enough one hundred percent, everything sets off the thousands of electrodes in their synthetic skin. Connor squirmed against the bed, and Hank knew that he had turned his sensitivity up to full power. Man, he must have been just as frustrated and horny as Hank himself had been. Maybe even more so. There was something about the smell of Fowler everywhere that had kept Hank’s libido generally at bay.

Hank pulled Connor’s pants and underwear down in one pull. He didn’t know how to explain what Connor did to him. How this android had disposed everything that he had believed about sexuality up until he had met him. With Connor, there was no genitalia to get excited to see; no hole to prepare; no dick to harden so Hank would know that he was having an effect on him. However, he had no issue seeing past these things. It wasn’t what was in Connor’s underwear that turned Hank on. It was everything about Connor that turned him on.

Connor clenched his thighs the instant he felt Hank slide between them. Both groaned in unison. Hank pushed his hand up Connor’s back and held onto the back of his neck for leverage. He could count the moles on his lover’s back, the pale skin flecked with freckles like an artist had flicked the bristles of their brush at him.

“I want to feel you.” Connor reached behind himself, groping the air in search of Hank. 

Hank grabbed Connor’s hand and let him pull him down against his back. Connor shuddered as Hank’s chest connected with his back. Hank pressed his face into Connor’s neck, huffing and panting into the android’s skin as he slowly fucked him into the mattress. Fowler’s mattress. Hank groaned. 

Fuck Fowler. Fuck Kamski. Fuck this fucking job. Fuck this damn case. Fuck anyone who wanted to separate him for this man. Fuck everything but this moment. 

Hank came into the bed with a shout. He blacked out for a moment, lying prone against Connor’s back. It took a moment for him to regain consciousness, and when he did he discovered that Connor had also went into shut down mode. Thank God Connor had been able to reach his end as well before Hank had passed out against him like the old coot that he was.

His knees were weak as he stood up and retrieved a cloth from the bathroom. He cleaned himself and Connor up. He couldn’t help thinking that if Fowler saw what he was doing, he would go buck crazy. Especially since it was in his damn bed. Hank smirked to himself as he changed Connor into a pair of Fowler’s pyjama pants. There was something oddly satisfying about having left his mark on his boss’ bedsheets. 

Hank heaved Connor into a love seat that was in the corner of the room. Connor was heavy as all hell, but Hank had carried him around so often now that it was a familiar weight. He made sure Connor was comfortable before changing the bedsheets and throwing their soiled clothes into the washing machine.

Once the bed was sorted, he returned Connor there and left him to reboot. Hank lay beside him, simply taking him in. When he was in standby mode, Connor’s LED would glow white and swirl around in slow circles. Hank liked to follow it with his eyes because it reminded him that even if Connor wasn’t responsive, he was still alive. 

A part of Hank wanted to rewind the week. He wanted everything to be as it was before. Sure, fucking each other while being under orders to kill one another was hot and all, but Hank would give anything to be able to share a bed with Connor again each night. Simply be close to him like he was now. Lying by his side and watching his LED turn in circles as he waited for him to reboot again. He wanted to lie in a bed that smelt like a mixture of his own cheap cologne and Sumo’s fur, not one that smelled like fucking Fowler.

“I love you,” Hank murmured, swiping his thumb over his LED. “I don’t think I could ever kill you. It’s fucking stupid, all of it.”

“Agreed,” Connor murmured back. He turned his head and his eyes flickered open. “I love you too.”

Hank caressed the side of Connor’s face. “I wasn’t too rough, was I? I kind of got carried away.” 

Connor shook his head. “It would take much more than that to even constitute rough.” He smiled. “Was I out long?”

“Not too long,” Hank smiled back. “I apologise for the smell. It seems fresh sheets still stink of Fowler’s shitty cologne.”

“That’s okay.” Connor leaned forward and kissed Hank gently. He slid out from underneath the sheets and stretched. His skin was still flushed blue, and Hank couldn’t take his eyes off him as he crossed the room. Connor attracted Hank’s attention like a light bulb to a moth. Fowler’s pants hung long on his hips, despite being tied tight. Hank wondered why such a beautiful android would waste his time with an old man like him. 

Connor paused outside the en suite. He stared at the photo on the wall. Hank could immediately sense a shift in the air. 

“Is that Zlatko?” Connor asked.

“Who?” Hank frowned.

“In that photo with Fowler. That’s Zlatko Andronikov.” Connor looked at Hank. His face was horrified.

“Who the hell is Zlatko Andronikov?”

“For someone who has an android for a husband, you certainly don’t know anything about android politics,” Connor stated.

“I don’t even know jack about human politics.” Hank pushed himself to the edge of the bed. “Is this Andronikov guy important?”

Connor’s eyes narrowed, his LED switching to red. “Zlatko Andronikov is responsible for the murder of hundreds of androids.”

Hank frowned. “And he hasn’t been arrested because . . . ?”

“Because the laws regarding android protection are as watertight as the Titanic hitting an iceberg,” Connor answered. “Zlatko is a murderer, Hank, and Fowler is clearly seen here with him. He values his company enough to have a framed photo of them together on his bedroom wall.”

“I’ve said before that Fowler has connections in the AAA . . .”

“The AAA? This guy is a murderer!”

Hank raised his eyebrows. “And what are we? Model citizens?”

“I kill to protect my people,” Connor snapped. “To protect my people from men like Zlatko!”

Hank sighed heavily. “I don’t pretend that Fowler is a good man. As I’ve said before, I owe him my life. That’s not a debt I can easily repay.”

“You’re working for a man who is close to a psycho who has been caught numerous times elbow deep in the innards of androids!” Connor shouted. 

How did things turn on their head so quickly? Barely five minutes ago, Hank had been peacefully following Connor’s swirling LED, bathing in the calm afterglow of sex, and now they were having another shouting match?

The truth was, Hank had never thought much about the people Fowler hung around with. He had never been a part of that world. Before they had been brought together by Hank’s life falling apart, Fowler’s world had never crossed with Hank’s at all. And now when they did spend time together, it was usually regarding work. Fowler had not attended their wedding. He had never even met Connor.

Hank had never thought to be suspicious of Fowler. The man had saved him, why should he have been suspicious of him? Okay, he knew Mary-Anne Hooper and, it seemed, he was close to this Zlatko man. Did that really mean that Fowler himself agreed with their views? Of course not. Hank knew Gavin, and the pair of them argued on pretty much everything. 

“I have friends whose lives were almost destroyed by Zlatko,” Connor said softly. “People close to me who almost lost everything because of him.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Hank said. “But that doesn’t mean that Fowler is running some plot to destroy androids. I would not be surprised if he didn’t even know about what that guy did to androids.”

“First Mary-Anne Hooper, now this, and you’re still claiming coincidence?” Connor asked, completely baffled.

“Fowler has never showed any type of hatred towards androids, Connor. He never even spoke of Mary-Anne Hooper until he was given the code. I think after knowing the man for a decade, his political beliefs would have come up by now.”

Connor shook his head. “Political belief is one thing. I will concede that at the very least Mary-Anne Hooper was a politician. But Zlatko? Zlatko is infamous for murdering androids. Before the revolution, he was known for actively wiping the memories of deviant androids seeking asylum and selling them back to Cyberlife. That’s not politics, and you know it.”

“Connor . . . I don’t know what you want me to do here.”

Hank felt helpless in this conversation. He didn’t know what to say or do. He was trapped between a rock and a hard place here. The rock being the man he loved and the hard place being the man who saved his life. Without Fowler, he would never have met Connor. And without Connor, he would never have known what it was like to feel loved and wanted again. No words came to mind that would make this situation any easier; any better; any less fucked up than it had become. 

Connor straightened up and sighed. “Don’t do anything, Hank. You don’t have to do anything.”

Hank sat paralyzed as he watched Connor leave the room. There was some shuffling around and then the door slammed shut. The beginnings of a headache were starting to beat at his brain. He felt the urge to burst into tears and punch a mirror at the exact same time. He wanted to throw that fucking photo of Fowler and Zlatko across the room for ruining his time with Connor.

Moving into the living area again, Hank retrieved his mobile and called Gavin.

“What is it?” was the response he got.

“Shut the fuck up, Gavin. Where’s Fowler?”

Hank heard Fowler on the other end of the line saying, _“Give me that phone.”_ A huff and a sigh later, and Fowler’s voice became clear. “Is everything alright, Hank?”

“Connor was here,” Hank deadpanned. “But he’s gone now. He showed no sign of knowing where you are hiding, but I would still change your location just to be safe.”

“Okay. Thank you, Hank.”

“Don’t mention it. Like, really, don’t.” Hank rubbed the bridge of his noise tiredly. “And tell Gavin to stop going to our house. Connor has been feeding Sumo and we’ve just been damn lucky that he hasn’t followed him back to where you both are.”

“Did you get any other information from him?” Fowler asked.

 _Apart from the fact that you’re obviously besties with some sort of android killer?_ “No. Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. You’re still doing a good job.” Hank could hear the gratitude in Fowler’s voice, and it made him want to throw his phone out the window. “I understand that this must be difficult for you, and I appreciate that you’re still on my side, despite all of this.”

Hank ground his teeth together, resisting the urge to declare that he had no fucking clue who’s side he was on. Hell, right now he barely knew what fucking direction he was looking in, never mind who’s side he was on. He was only working by what he had known for the past decade. Who didn’t know where this case was going to lead him.

“Yeah, I’m fucking fantastic,” Hank said flatly.

Fowler sighed. “I’ll see you soon, Hank, okay? Hang in there.”

“Yeah, sure. Okay.”

Hank hung up and threw his phone onto the coffee table. He felt like he was being torn in two completely different directions. Everything he thought that he knew about Fowler, the man he had worked for for an entire decade of his life, was being thrown onto his head. If it had been any old loser telling him about it, Hank would have dismissed it long ago. 

But it wasn’t any old loser. It was Connor. The man who he had always thought he would never second guess. Ever. So why was he second guessing him now? 

He was a horrible man and a shitty husband.

Connor didn’t deserve to have such a pathetic excuse for a husband.

What could he do now?

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter! You can keep updated on my writing and other happenings @ SheWrites94 on twitter (no space). I have another Hankcon story going right now if you're needing a fix so you can check that out if you like!
> 
> Thank you for reading, it means a lot!


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